Army of Two: Attrition
by Mercstouch
Summary: Corporal Tyson Rios struggles to survive in the Nazi infested forests of Belgium during the Battle of the Bulge, where he forms a peculiar bond with a stranger that saved his life. World War II AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Walloon Region, Belgium 1944**

The squad of Army Rangers solemnly trudged through the Ardennes forest, tugging their worn boots free from the frost covered underbrush that clawed at them with every step. Corporal Tyson Rios plowed through the snow at the end of the pack. He situated the strap of the M2 carbine hitched over his shoulder, and blinked his sleep deprived eyes that stung from the frigid December wind blowing through the towering trees.

It had been three weeks since the members of the 5th Ranger Battalion had entered enemy territory, and morale was running low for the weathered group. They had already witnessed numerous firefights, and had lost four men to Nazi bullets, a significant number for a group so small in a war so big. Rios sighed, dug into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out his leather wallet. Opening the billfold, he smiled at the black and white photograph of a dark-skinned woman beaming inside. He flipped over the picture and examined the note scribed in cursive he had read a hundred times over.

Love you always and forever.

-Sam

"Alright, lover-boy," a voice called from the front. "Enough with the photo. Don't wanna take a round to the back because you were too busy ogling at your lady."

"Ah, can it, Harper," another man replied. "You're just jealous you don't got yourself a lady back home."

"Yeah, right, Coons. I got all the ladies I need right here," Harper chuckled as he patted the pin-up magazine stuffed in his back pocket. Rios rolled his eyes and tucked the photograph and wallet back into his trouser pocket, then lifted the tattered wool scarf up over his nose.

"Will you all pipe down?" an older man at the front of the squad snapped. "Whole daddy-blamed German army'll hear ya."

"Sorry, Top," another answered. "Old chrome-dome here's just-"

A shot was fired and the man fell to the ground, the wound in his head forming a crimson puddle in the snow around him.

"Shit!" Harper screamed. Rios jumped over top of the other and they fell to the ground. He peered up from the snow to see their sergeant barking orders telling the others to take cover, but his cries were barely heard over the roaring gunfire. The older man slid behind a tree, and took the rifle slung over his shoulder into his hands. When the woods became silent and the shots ceased, he spun around from behind the tree and took aim, only to take a shot to the chest. The man cried out, then fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Top!" Coons yelled from behind the cover of a shallow embankment. The frightened man unholstered the M1911 pistol from his hip and crawled on all fours to the top of the mound. Rios quietly rolled off of Harper, and the two crept to Coons side behind the embankment.

"I-I don't see 'em," Harper stuttered frantically. "I don't see 'em."

"Quiet," Rios hushed him, unslinging the rifle from his shoulder. He looked to Coons, but the man shook his head and shrugged. Out of nowhere, another shot fired, and the man's back exploded. He shouted, then went limp and slid down the mound. Rios cursed under his breath and spun around onto his back, darting his eyes across the landscape for the assailants. Harper sobbed quietly by his side, loading a clip into his pistol with shaking hands. A slight movement caught Rios eye, and he looked to his right to see a small, round object roll across the snow and slow to a stop at their feet.

"Shit, grenade!" Rios shouted, tugging the other man to his feet. The two bolted only a few feet before the explosive detonated, and the men were thrown to the ground. Rios groaned and through lidded eyes looked to Harper, whose corpse looked back at him with a blank, bloody countenance. The world around him soon grew cloudy, and within seconds everything went black.

Rios fluttered his eyes open, and moaned in pain. His whole body ached and a ruthless throbbing pulsed in his head. He found himself unable to move, and looked down in confusion at the thick ropes that bound his body in a sitting position to the rough bark of a tree. He looked back up to see six German soldiers sitting casually around a weak bonfire, rummaging through the deceased squad's belongings. One of the soldiers noticed that Rios had awoken, and tapped an adjacent man's shoulder to alert him. The larger of the group stood, and made his way toward the captured American, a smug grin spreading across his lips. He jeeringly shook the pin-up magazine Harper had carried with him and chuckled something in German, then the others laughed at the remark. The larger tossed the magazine to one of his comrades, then turned back to Rios and landed a hard punch to his cheek.

"Bastards," Rios growled. The man touched his index finger and thumb together, making an "okay" symbol, and again the others laughed hysterically. He sauntered back to his place by the fire a few feet away, and the men returned to their small talk.

Rios sighed. He checked his bonds once more, but escape was impossible. They had stripped him of his knife and weapons, as well as his boots. He looked around the encampment and saw his fellow Rangers lying side by side in an orderly row. They, too, were missing items of clothing. Harper lay closest to him, and Rios shook his head in grief as the man's dead eyes stared back at him.

Hours passed and the sun began to set on the forest. The Nazi soldiers gathered close to the smoldering flames, and poked at the burning embers, coaxing the fire to grow. Rios watched from a distance, shivering violently in the cold. He tried to distract himself by thinking of home, of his warm apartment in Brooklyn, of Samantha's shoulders tucked under his arm as they watched Casablanca at the local cinema. He held tightly to these memories, for they were the only things keeping him alive.

He was shaken from his thoughts when the soldiers let out frightened screams, and scrambled hurriedly in all directions. Then, an explosion erupted, knocking them off their feet. The soldiers snatched up their weapons and spun around the encampment, looking desperately for their attacker. A shot was fired, and a cloud of misty blood burst from one of the Nazi's skulls, and he fell to the snow. Seconds later, another gunshot erupted from the dense forest, and another man fell.

The larger of the soldiers screamed furiously at the invisible enemy. Another shot to an adjacent man was his only answer. A snapping of twigs alerted them, and the larger barked at the last two soldiers that remained of his squad, motioning them toward the noise. The two swallowed thickly, then reluctantly stepped into the wood. Soon after, a gunshot and a cut-off scream echoed through the trees.

The last man looked frantically around the area, and called out to the attacker in furious German. He then turned to Rios and began shouting at him, but the threats were cut short when the man gasped, then crumpled face-down into the snow, a tomahawk jutting from his back.

Rios sat in stunned silence at the corpse laying at his feet. The trees and ferns at the edge of the encampment began to rustle, and a figure appeared from the wood. He was dressed head-to-tow in thick, tattered wool clothes, and donned a grey fur ushanka over his head. A scarf was pulled up over his nose, making his hazel eyes the only visible feature on his face. The stranger hitched his sniper rifle up over his shoulder and approached the dead Nazi at Rios' feet, where he tugged the hatchet loose from the corpse's back.

"Holy shit, would you get a load a that?" he said astonished. "I got him! That never happens."

The man hooked the weapon to his belt, then dismissed Rios and began digging through the dead soldiers' belongings. He plopped down by one and pulled off one of their boots. After placing it against the bottom of his own foot, he cursed and moved on to the next soldier. After two more tries, he found a pair that fit him and replaced his own riddled, torn boots with the new pair.

"You gonna untie me?" Rios grumbled through chattering teeth. The stranger plucked the pin-up magazine from one of the German's pockets and chuckled, before stuffing it inside his own trench coat.

"Don't know," he answered. "You a friendly?"

"I'm Corporal Tyson Rios of the 5th Ranger Battalion."

"Ranger? No shit. Me too," the man replied. "Oh, what do we have here?"

He picked up Rios' worn billfold from the snow and dusted it off, then opened it.

"Hey, sugar," he flirted, admiring the photograph inside. "You rationed?"

"That's mine," Rios growled. "Now untie me. I'm an American."

"Don't look it," the man argued.

"Are you some kind of idiot."

The stranger chuckled. "Yeah, you're American. Hold on, Tiny. Don't get your panties in wad."

He unsheathed a blade from his belt and knelt before Rios, then began slicing through the thick rope. When Rios was freed from his bonds, the other man tugged the boots off of the large soldier he had killed with the hatchet, and tossed the shoes to Rios.

"Looks like these'll fit ya," he said.

Rios scoffed. "They're mine. The bastard took 'em from me."

"Hey, take what you can get," the other replied. "Especially in a shit place like this. Here, you need it more than me."

The stranger pulled the ushanka from his head, revealing thick dark hair and bangs, and placed it over Rios' bald scalp.

"Thanks," Rios said. "You said you were Army?"

"Yeah, tubby," the man answered. He tugged the scarf off of his nose and down around his neck, divulging his young face daubed with light stubble. He offered Rios his hand and hauled him to his feet.

"Private First Class Elliot Salem. Boy, you are a big one."


	2. Chapter 2

Rios knelt down on one knee in front of Harper's corpse, and stared solemnly at the line of his fallen comrades that laid like refuse in the snow.

"We should get goin'," Salem advised, wiping a gloved finger under his red nose. "It's gettin' dark."

Rios ignored him. He took a hold of the crucifix necklace hanging around his neck and gave it a quick tug, snapping the silver chain. He then placed the necklace into Harper's hand, and cupped the other's stiff, cold fingers around it.

"Don't think that's gonna do him any good now," Salem said, anxiously looking around the area.

"Do you ever shut up?" Rios snapped. "These were good men. They deserved better than this."

Salem furrowed his brows, then approached the other man from behind. He hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, attempting to console him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered sincerely. "But we really need to get outta here and back to my squad."

Rios looked up at him curiously. "You have a squad?"

"Yeah," Salem answered. "And we should get goin' before the sun sets. Trust me, you do not want to be stuck out here at night."

In the distance, a feral chorus of wolves' howls echoed and bounced off the trees, concealing the origin of the spine tingling cries.

"Please," Salem breathed, fearfully eying the edge of the clearing. Rios sighed and gave the fallen soldiers one last look before getting back to his feet. He then scooped up a rifle from the ground and hitched it over his shoulder.

"Lead the way," Rios grumbled. Salem flashed him a smile, then checked his compass before crossing the small clearing and entering the thick wood, Rios in tow.

"If you got a squad," Rios said, following the younger's footsteps through underbrush and fallen tree limbs. "Why are you out here alone?"

"They sent me out on a scouting mission," Salem answered proudly. "You know, secure the area and what not. I heard some shots, and went to check it out, then I found you. Oh, speaking of which..."

Salem dug the old billfold out of his trench coat pocket and placed it in the other's large hand with a grin. "You can have this back."

Rios gave him an amused look, then tucked the wallet back into his own trouser pocket. "They sent you out alone?"

"Well, yeah," Salem answered. "Why?"

Rios shrugged. "Just don't think it's safe to go alone."

"Safe doesn't exist in a place like this," Salem scoffed. "And I can take care a myself."

"I didn't say you couldn't," Rios argued. "That was some pretty good shooting you did back there."

Salem's cheeks reddened from the praised, and he was relieved he was in front so it went unseen.

"Where the hell did you get a tomahawk?" Rios continued.

"Ah, I just picked it up along the way, you know? Pick up a lot of stuff, like that nice hat you got on, and my boots."

"So, you're a scavenger?" Rios chuckled. "Like a little rat."

"Hey, I didn't hear the guys complainin'," Salem rebutted. "Dead aren't in much need of anything."

Rios nodded somberly. "Elliot?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. "That's what you said your name was, right?"

"Yep," Salem answered. "Or just Salem. Most everybody just calls me Salem."

"Hey, Elliot?"

"Yes, Tyson?" Salem asked smoothly. "Ugh, don't like that. Sounds too formal or something. Just Tyse from now on."

Rios chuckled. "Thanks for saving my ass back there. The bastards were gonna let me freeze to death over night. Woulda been a bad way to go."

"Ah, don't mention it," Salem replied. "Besides, you could still get shot and bleed out or somethin' later. We aren't out of the woods yet." He then chuckled lightly at his own pun, causing Rios to roll his eyes.

"How many are in your squad?" Rios asked as he watched Salem tread silently across the underbrush blanketed in snow, strategically placing his booted feet where the thicket wouldn't crunch and snap under his weight.

"Well," Salem began. "They're not all my squad. There's five, countin' me, but only three of us are Army. There's Dudley; he's from Lancaster. That's in England."

"I know where Lancaster is," Rios muttered.

"And there's a Frenchie named Darcy," Salem continued. "But he can't speak no English."

"You pick those guys up along the way, too?"

Salem shrugged. "Yeah, guess you could say that. But, hey, strength in numbers, right? Five guys is a hell of a lot better than three, if you ask me."

"Who are the Americans, then?" Rios inquired.

"There's Harris," Salem answered. "He's a specialist from the 761st Tank Battalion. I think he's a swell guy, but Bennett don't trust him much just because he's a negro."

Rios cocked an eyebrow. "I'm guessing Bennett's the other American."

"Yeah," Salem said with a hint of discomfort. "He's a staff sergeant, and the only guy from my real squad that made it. He's still the big cheese though, so everyone does what he says."

"Surprised an Englishman and a Frenchman would take orders from an American," Rios replied.

"Well, one time Darcy didn't give him his last cig, and Bennett broke two of his fingers," Salem explained solemnly. "So Darcy does what he says now. Everyone does."

"Christ," Rios said under his breath. He looked over to Salem, who walked a few feet ahead, and noticed he slightly favored his right leg.

"He ever hurt you?" Rios asked with concern.

Salem looked back over his shoulder at the big man, and chuckled with an undertone of anxiety.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I kinda had it comin' for being such a fuck-up. It's nothin'," the younger reassured. "Anyway, not to far now, Rios. Look."

He ran his gloved hand over the rough bark of a tree which had three deep gashes carved into the shape of an "s".

"We're almost there. Camp's just about a klick away."

The four men sat idly around the campfire in the center of the encampment, the flickering glow of the weak flame dancing across their wind-burned cheeks and the towering pine tress that encompassed the small clearing. One of the men looked up from the branch he whittled away with a pocket knife to see two men approaching, and only one he recognized.

"Oy, Benny," Dudley said in a thick British accent.

The man laying across from him rested against a canvas pack, his arms bent back behind his head and his worn army cap shielding his eyes.

"The hell do you want?" Bennett grumbled sleepily.

"Salem's back," Dudley answered.

The other sighed, exasperated. "Of course he is."

"And he's got someone with him."

Bennett ripped the cap off from over his face, and bolted to his feet. The other three stood as well, and watched as the youngest man and the stranger approached.

"Hey, fellas," Salem beamed. "You'll never guess what I did."

"Oh I got an idea," Bennett growled, lifting Salem inches off the ground by the flaps of his trench coat. "The fuck were you thinking bringing a stranger with you?!"

"It's okay. Tyse is a Ranger, like us," Salem defended, tugging at the large man's wrists in an attempt to escape his grasp.

"I don't give a rat's ass if he's the fuckin' Pope!" Bennett shouted furiously. "You brought another mouth to feed when we're already starving, you little shit!"

Bennett felt a firm grip on his arm, and looked up from Salem's fearful eyes to see the burly stranger squeezing down hard on his bicep.

"Put the kid down," Rios said sternly.

Bennett glared back menacingly into the other man eyes, which unlike most, met at the same height as his own. He roughly planted Salem back down onto the snowy ground, and the smaller stepped behind Rios, watching the enraged man warily.

"The hell are you?" Bennett snarled, scrutinizing the stranger.

"I'm Corporal Tyson Rios," he answered. "I'm a friend."

Bennett snorted. "Sure you are."

"You said you all were starving?" Rios asked, unhitching the bag from over his shoulder. "Me and Elliot picked up some supplies, and got some rations. Here."

Rios tossed him the heavy sack, which the man eyed suspiciously. Bennett dug through the bag, and pulled out a tin can labeled "C-ration" in plain, black letters. He looked back up at Rios, then scoffed and made his way back to the campfire.

"You can stay for the night," he grumbled. "But tomorrow, we'll see." He plopped down on a blanket spread out in front of the fire, then dug through the sack and began tossing the other men cans and paper packages of food, saving the largest ration pack for himself. After tossing a can of bean to Rios, Bennett fought back a smug grin and threw Salem a small, paper wrapped brick. Salem caught the package, and sighed disappointedly. Rios looked over to the younger man, and examined the brick, which read _U.S. Army Field Ration D. _

Rios shook his head in disgust. Field Ration D was the United States' government's poor excuse for a chocolate bar, which the soldiers unfortunate enough to have to eat appropriately dubbed "Hitler's Secret Weapon." The ration could withstand temperatures up to 120 degrees Fahrenheit without melting, and hard as a rock, requiring bits to be shaven off before eating to prevent fracturing a man's teeth. The big man looked down at his tin can, and sighed, then nudged Salem lightly with his elbow.

"Trade you," Rios said, flashing the other a smile.

A confused look came over Salem's face. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," Rios reassured. "Don't know why everyone complains about the stuff. I can't get enough."

Salem's eyes darted from the bar in his hands to the can of beans, then back before nodding in agreement and exchanging his ration for the silver can Rios offered.

"Good luck with that, big guy," he chuckled. "And thanks."

"Why the hell does mine have bloody German all over it?" Dudley asked, examining his package.

"Hey, mine does too," Harris added. "Where'd you get these, kid?"

"I was out scoutin' like Bennett told me to," Salem explained. "And I heard some gunfire and an explosion, so I went to take a look. There were, what, five or six Heinies just campin' out in the woods, havin' a grand ole time while Rios here was tied to a tree, freezing his ass off. So, get this fellas, I snuck around their camp and picked 'em off one by one. Nazi fucks didn't know what hit 'em. Last guy I finished off with my Tomahawk."

"Horse shit," Bennett interjected.

"It's true!" Salem whined.

"He's telling it how it was," Rios defended. "I'll vouch for him. Kid took out a whole squadron on German troops, and saved my ass from freezing to death. Wouldn't be here if you hadn't sent him out for recon."

"Yeah," Bennett snorted. "Recon."

Only Dudley snickered at the remark. Harris shook his head and tried ignoring them, while Darcy, unable to understand it in the first place, slurped at the canned peaches in his right hand while digging his left into the snow to ease the pain in his broken ring and pinkie fingers wrapped tightly in gauze.

An uncomfortable, transient smile flash across Salem's face, and he pulled his knees to his chest then wrapped his arms around his legs. Rios, feeling pity for the smaller man, pulled the ushanka from his bald head, and patted the too-large, furry hat over Salem's dark hair. The hat fell over his eyes, causing the big man to chuckle, and Salem pushed it back up properly on his head, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

"Alright," Bennett said, crushing his empty can, and tossing in behind him into the woods. "I'm hittin' the hay. Salem takes night watch."

"Night watch?" Rios asked. "As in all night?"

"Yeah," Bennett answered brusquely, laying back and and covering his eyes with his cap. "Kid's gotta pull his weight around here somehow."

"Pull his-"

"Tyse, don't," Salem muttered. "It's fine. I can do it."

Rios huffed, but refrained from arguing further, and watched with disdain as the others curled up in their sleeping packs, then eventually fell asleep.

"You need a place to sleep?" Salem asked. "You can take my spot by Harris."

"No, I'll stay up with you," Rios replied.

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine," Rios smiled. "I can do it."

Salem chuckled lightly, and shrugged, then pulled his rifle in his lap. "Whatever you say. Gonna be a long night."

By around midnight, Salem languished from lack of sleep, and nodded off on Rios' shoulder, rifle in hand. Rios sighed, and gently pulled the displaced ushanka off of the young man's head and onto the ground. He then eased Salem off of his shoulder and on his side, using the furry hat as a pillow to support his head.

The way Rios had seen the squad treat Salem in the few hours he had been there disturbed him. What disturbed him more was the way the younger man endured the abuse. In a place like this, no man could survive alone. A group was the only chance of survival, and Salem knew that. They all knew that. But Bennet and the others took advantage of that knowledge and used it against a young man too physically inept to fight back, and that sickened Rios to the core. He was tired of people like Bennett, and too many times had he faced men like him who used their position to gain control over those less powerful. Wasn't that what this whole war was over? A man taking advantage of the weak and using them for his own personal gain? With that logic, Bennett was no better than Adolph Hitler himself. Rios swore to himself that he wouldn't allow this exploitation to be done to the man that saved his life. There were going to be some changes around here. Bennett could count on that.


End file.
